


Coming Home

by lunabee34 (Lorraine)



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: 1000-3000 words, Age Difference, Developing Relationship, First Time, Injury, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-09
Updated: 2009-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-02 09:16:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorraine/pseuds/lunabee34
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt's not that guy.  He's really not, no matter what McClane said.  Staying alive is a very special motivator, and saving McClane, saving Lucy—that was just another kind of saving his own ass.  So how he ends up here on the floor of Citibank watching his blood sink into the carpet, Matt doesn't exactly know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

Matt's not that guy. He's really not, no matter what McClane said. Staying alive is a very special motivator, and saving McClane, saving Lucy—that was just another kind of saving his own ass. So how he ends up here on the floor of Citibank watching his blood sink into the carpet, Matt doesn't exactly know.

@@@

After the fire sale fails, after the morphine has worn off, after Matt's had too much time to think about killing two people, McClane doesn't fade into the woodwork like Matt expects.

"What now, kid?" he says, his feet propped up on the end of Matt's hospital bed, his shoulder bulky with bandages that the nurses have signed and drawn hearts and smiley faces all over. "You got family or somebody?"

Matt shakes his head.

"Some money saved up?"

And that's another no.

"Don't hold your breath for Allstate. This'll be Katrina all over again. Nobody's getting jack shit out of an insurance company in my lifetime."

Matt shrugs. "Yeah. I don't know. The FBI offered me a job." He grins. "Can you see that? Me in a three piece and a badge?"

McClane snorts. "Christ, what's the world coming to?" But he smirks when he says it, and Matt figures McClane thinks the FBI could do worse.

McClane's just as intense now as he was when he was killing helicopters with cars—hyper alert, focused—even when he's just hanging out in Matt's hospital room. Matt thought maybe he'd change once the threat was over, be less of a hardass or something, but now he guesses McClane never lets himself truly relax. Matt doesn't blame him. Still, sometimes when it's just the two of them, McClane eases up a little like he's doing now and Matt feels stupidly happy, thinking, "I did that. That's for me."

"Why don't you stay with me awhile?" McClane offers and Matt has to look away when he says yes, suddenly more afraid of what McClane might see in his eyes than anything that's happened in the past week.

@@@

"Oh, yeah," Matt thinks. "So not that guy." The edges of his vision grey out and he can't feel his hands anymore.

That guy doesn't just fall in front of a bullet. Oh, no. That guy fashions a weapon out of deposit slips and sugar free lollipops and wastes the bank robber before he can pull his gun on the pregnant chick waiting in line. So, yeah. Matt totally fails at being that guy.

Matt hears a lot of shrieking and the gun going off again and some crazy part of him that knows he's going to die is sorry he couldn't hoist himself up to take that bullet too. He's kicking it anyway. Might as well. The pregnant woman is pressing her hands into his belly and saying something to Matt that he can't understand. She's crying and Matt's sorry he's freaking her out but there's really nothing to be done for it. He thinks about closing his eyes and then he sees McClane, gun in hand, looking fucking pissed, and when McClane yells for him to keep his goddamn eyes open Farrell, Matt tries his best. He really does.

@@@

Matt and McClane get released from the hospital on the same day and Matt's not jealous that McClane's fifty million odd wounds healed at the same rate as Matt's knee. Okay, maybe he is a little.

For just a second, belted carefully into the backseat with Lucy checking up on him in the rearview at every light they catch, Matt thinks living with McClane will be too weird. But then Lucy's pulling into McClane's complex and McClane takes his arm on the steps up to the lobby—just the slight pressure of his hand right above Matt's elbow, his fingers curling warm around the bicep—and it isn't weird at all.

McClane gives him the spare bedroom. It's completely bare, even the closet, and Matt suspects McClane had Lucy clean it out for him. Matt lies back on the plaid comforter and listens to McClane flush the toilet and then wash his hands. When he steps out into the hall, McClane's humming something to himself like he's alone. Like there's nobody around he has to put on a show for. Matt grins and presses the heel of his hand to his mouth so he won't say something stupid out loud; for all he knows super hearing is part of the McClane package. So Matt settles for just thinking it instead.

Matt decides to take the job with the FBI, but he's still too banged up even to work a desk job and he can't start for another month or so. It's cool; they're flexible. However, the last thing Matt wants is for McClane to see him as a mooch, which means he needs some cash now. So Matt sells everything in his apartment that survived the explosion on EBAY and how fucked up is it that some grandma in Minnesota wants to buy a slightly singed toaster just because it used to be Matt Farrell's. That's the first time Matt thinks that being the face of American triumph isn't a huge pain in his ass. Oh, McClane got some of the press, but mostly he just ducked the cameras and let Matt do all the talking and now Matt gets letters from people he's never met and strangers on the street stop him and want to shake his hand. Somehow that's more surreal than being held at gunpoint or watching the grid go dark.

"What'd you get today, Princess?" McClane asks, sifting through his own pile of fan mail.

Matt is particularly proud of today's haul. "Two offers of marriage, a sweet shot of Miss Sandy Markham's tits . . ."

McClane snatches the photo. "Oh, that's going on the fridge. Right next to Becky and Mindy."

"And a pair of panties."

McClane frowns. "I haven't gotten any panties."

"Sorry, dude. It is what it is. The ladies love me."

McClane rolls his eyes. "Okay, Cassanova, if you can bring yourself to be seen with me, I was thinking burgers."

Matt gets his shoes and powers down his gear and they leave. The sidewalk in front of their building is crowded and McClane plants his hand in the small of Matt's back, herding him along, and two blocks later, Matt can still feel its warmth.

@@@

When Matt opens his eyes again he's in the hospital. McClane is next to him hunched over asleep in one of those awful waiting room chairs and Matt bets his neck will hurt like a bitch when he finally wakes up. Matt's drifting off to sleep again when he realizes McClane is holding his hand, his grip strong even in sleep.

@@@

Matt is nervous that Lucy will fuck things up, that she'll try to kiss him or expect him to ask her on a date or something. But she doesn't. She treats him like a friend, nothing more. Matt's relieved and maybe just a tiny bit disappointed. He catches her staring at him sometimes, though, like she can't figure him out. She looks at McClane like that a lot too so maybe it doesn't mean anything. Just Lucy being Lucy.

She comes over for dinner the night McClane goes on his first stakeout since he went back on duty and they eat Chinese with chopsticks and watch _Futurama_ and both pretend they're not worried about him.

Lucy says, "It's so weird how you and Dad get along. He doesn't give you shit for anything."

"You clearly missed the There's Not a Goddamn Clean Dish in the Whole Goddamn Apartment Goddamn It Debacle of Aught Seven."

Lucy grins and swats at his arm. "No seriously. It's weird. I haven't seen him this comfortable with anybody except maybe Mom when I was a little kid. I mean, not even me and I'm his own daughter." Lucy makes a face and Matt can't tell if that's her hurt feelings face or her God-my-dad's-emotionally-stunted-but-I-love-him-anyway face. "I guess I thought you two wouldn't last long as roommates but I was wrong. You're good for each other. Dad seems happier than he has in a long time."

She looks at Matt sidelong under her bangs and suddenly the back of Matt's neck burns and his stomach lurches around the sesame chicken they're eating. Lucy changes the subject, but later after McClane drags in and Matt can go to bed, he lays awake thinking about what she said. Matt's not sure but he thinks Lucy has given him some kind of blessing which frankly scares the shit out of him.

Lucy's not the only one who thought Matt would be out on his ass in no time and Matt won't let himself wonder why he's still here. If he does, he'll start to hope and maybe Lucy was just making small talk earlier and Matt really can't deal with losing what he already has with McClane.

So Matt just bides his time, taking what he can get. He's still living with McClane when he gets out of physical therapy and when he starts work at the Bureau, and he's still living there when he finally stops limping. Matt holds his breath, waiting for McClane to tell him to get the hell out already, but McClane never does.

@@@

The next time Matt opens his eyes, McClane is standing at the window looking out over the skyline.

"You're awake," Matt says, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.

McClane turns around and for just a moment he seems small and vulnerable in the harsh fluorescent lighting. Matt blinks and McClane looks like himself again. "Yeah, I'm awake. You're the one who's been taking a nap."

"No, earlier." Matt tries to explain but he can tell he's not making much sense so he gives up. His mouth is really too dry for talking anyway.

"Just a second," McClane says. He leaves and comes back with a cup of ice chips which Matt decides are his new favorite food/beverage.

"What happened?" Matt manages.

"You oughta know. You were there," McClane says, rubbing a hand over his bald head and sighing. Matt rolls his eyes and McClane tells him what he wants to know. "NYPD arrived on the scene just after Pinkler shot you. Nobody else was hurt. That pregnant lady went into labor. She named her baby after you."

"Really?" Matt says, pleased.

"Yeah, but it's a girl, so I wouldn't get too excited, Farrell."

Matt wants to stick his tongue out but he's afraid he'll drool all over himself so he doesn't. "And Pinkler?" he says.

"Dead. Very, very dead."

Matt is certain he knows who's responsible for that.

McClane has been acting weird since Matt woke up, fidgeting and glancing all around the room like he can't keep his eyes in one place for too long. Matt's never seen him like this. "Dude, what is with you?"

"You scared me," McClane says and stares at his shoes. He looks scared too which boggles Matt's mind because John McClane isn't scared of anything. Matt reaches out without thinking and takes McClane's hand in his own. McClane holds on for dear life, his thumb rubbing circles into Matt's palm like a promise.

 

@@@

Matt's standing in line at Citibank very studiously not thinking about how easy it would be to hack into the system and add a couple three zeros to his balance. Not that he needs to. The FBI is treating him alright. More than alright.

The woman in front of him is pregnant, ready-to-pop-any-second pregnant. She's tired of waiting; she keeps looking at her watch and arching her back like it hurts. The man at the counter has a whole handful of checks and the teller is only through about a third of them. Matt's turning around to leave when this guy busts through the door.

The dude is clearly tweaking. Matt can see the track marks on his arms, black and nasty in the hollows of his elbows.

"Mr. Pinkler," the teller says. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave." She picks up the telephone.

"I want my money back!" Pinkler yells and then he pulls a gun out of his waistband and waves it all around. "Give me my money back or I'll start shooting people."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Pinkler," the teller says smoothly but Matt can tell she's terrified. So are the pregnant lady and the man at the counter. So is Matt.

"Not fast enough, bitch," Pinkler says and then he aims the gun with a suddenly steady hand right at the pregnant lady's belly.

"Hey," Matt says, stepping in between Pinkler and the woman. "Hey. Let's just calm down. You don't want to hurt anybody."

And then Matt smacks the back of his head on the floor and his waist is wet with blood and he thinks that single gunshot is the loudest thing he's ever heard.

 

@@@

Matt is so glad to be home and he doesn't know exactly when McClane's place started being that for him, but yeah. Home. He's still sore and he won't be going back to work any time soon but turns out getting gutshot is less of a bitch than blowing out his knee. Weird.

Matt is trying really hard not to have any expectations, but he and McClane were dancing around something the whole time Matt was in the hospital, maybe even for longer than that, and now that they're alone and Matt isn't pissing into a tube anymore, he really hopes something will happen. Just something. Anything.

Matt takes a shower, the first shower he's had in ages, and it feels so good he almost falls asleep propped up against the tile. He eventually drags himself out and puts on his most threadbare and faded sweats. They're so soft after a couple weeks of hospital gowns. Then he sacks out on the couch and watches cartoons, listening to McClane putter around in the kitchen.

"You alright?" McClane says after awhile, hunkering down beside the couch.

"I'm good," Matt says, and he is.

Then McClane leans in, so slowly that his intent is unmistakable, one hand cupping Matt's head and pulling him closer. "Finally," Matt thinks. "Finally."

McClane kisses like he does everything else—no holds barred—licking into Matt's mouth like he fucking owns it. Matt shudders and fists both hands in McClane's shirt and McClane makes this low desperate sound that's easily the sexiest noise ever. McClane rips his mouth away and bites Matt's neck, hard, and Matt almost comes in his pants right then.

"John, John," he gasps and the name is strange and wonderful in his mouth.

"Yeah, kid. That's my name." Matt can feel McClane smiling against his neck.

Matt rolls his eyes. "Shut up, old man, and take me to bed." He pushes away and looks at McClane seriously. "Unless that's gonna be too much for you."

McClane stands up so fast Matt swears he hears his knees creak. He hauls Matt up off the couch and tows him down the hall to his bedroom. Matt shucks his shirt and he's working on his pants when he realizes McClane is stalled halfway out of his jeans, just staring at the ugly zipper line of Matt's sutures. "Hey," Matt says. "It's okay. I'm okay." He steps closer, until their bodies are pressed together and he can feel McClane's cock hard against his hip. "Let me show you."

Then Matt drops to his knees and works McClane's dick out of his boxers. McClane sucks in a noisy breath and then stops breathing altogether when Matt swallows him down. Matt sucks him slowly, swirling his tongue around the head on the upstroke, until McClane is saying his name in a strangled voice and tightening his hands in Matt's hair. Matt's side is starting to hurt and he's glad when McClane tenses, his thighs like steel under Matt's hands, and comes.

Matt struggles back to his feet and McClane steers him over to the bed. His hands, his mouth, his body all are gentle with Matt, and Matt never thought he'd be using the word tender to describe McClane, but that's what this is—his mouth biting kisses across Matt's ribs, his hand jerking Matt, that slow sweet burn, until Matt's coming in a wide arc across his belly. McClane wipes Matt down with the sheet, tosses it on the floor and pulls the comforter up over them both. Matt falls asleep with McClane's hand on his hip, with McClane's face pressed into his shoulder blades.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Coming Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070874) by [Unread](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unread/pseuds/Unread)




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